


Only One Way Up

by whereimgone (orphan_account)



Category: Jonas Brothers
Genre: Hell hell forever with me to the depths of hell, M/M, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/whereimgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he didn't have Joe, Nick would just stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only One Way Up

Joe loves his costume for the Digital Short. He leaves the wig on for the next two hours and keeps thrusting his hips and making deranged eighties hairband howls, like Andy Samberg and Jorm hadn't had to give them all a crash course in the genre by showing them a ton of Poison videos on youtube yesterday. Joe's clearly a little nervous around the Saturday Night Live guys - the new ones who did the Lazy Sunday rap - in that way that means he isn't sure he's liked but wants to be. He's doing his too-cool-for-school routine, slouching and cracking jokes that shade more towards ironic and pretending he's heard of the indie bands they bring up once in a while. Nick guesses he's impressed by these older guys who live in New York and probably chill with Justin Timberlake. They're weird but sophisticated in a way few people they know are. The Jonas' don't spend a lot of time with celebrities who haven't been through the Disney filter. Andy and his friends are nice enough to Joe or at least they insult him the way they insult each other. Inclusive and masculine and nerdy.

Nick hates it when Joe gets like this, mostly because he starts acting like an utter d-bag to Kevin, dismissive and nasty when Kevin tries to be in on the conversation. Like Kevin would damage his cred. The one with glasses makes some joke about cigars and Kevin tries to join in, say something about peach-flavored cigars they saw once in Spain, and Joe scoffs, "Like you even know anything about cigars - one time we went to a pool hall and Kev here actually _barfed_ at the smell. He's got the constitution of a kitten who just saw a scary movie."

Kevin gives up after that. Nick's trying to avoid the lot of them but when he passes in arm's reach, Joe snakes out and jostles him close. He shoves Nick's face into the curls of his wig, saying, "You smell that, Nicholas? There's bonafide eighties sex appeal in these follicles. You can't bottle this stuff, man." Nick laughs despite himself and stops trying to push Joe away. Through the synthetic hair he can see Kevin look up from his couch, where he had been flipping through a magazine. Nick shrugs apologetically and Kevin rolls his eyes, part _can you believe this guy?_ and part _don't worry about it_ before turning back to _Esquire_.

Once when Nick was going through his share of pre-approved fanmail, smiling stunned at all the glitter, his mother said in her reflective voice, "You're very lucky, you know. You've always been loved."

Nick had been fourteen maybe and he had looked up, surprised. "Yeah. Of course I know that." And he did get her point. Even before the fans he had his family and God - especially God. But the first thought that had flashed through his mind was Joe. That wasn't there something tragic about how Nick had had Joe his entire life but Joe had gone through three years without Nick, three whole years when love wasn't a rock hard certainty. It was an unstable foundation for his universe. But that was a pretty embarrassing thought. Nick tries to remember the God part more.

They stay for the first hour of the afterparty before it gets too adult and secular, talking a little to Seth Meyers and being ignored by Alec Baldwin. Nick sees Joe eye the bar and nudges him, making a face. Joe makes a more sarcastic face back and pinches Nick's side. He smooths the same spot over with the tips of his fingers, like he's imagining the red underneath Nick's shirt and wants to soothe it away. At least he's taken off the wig. Nick flushes and hates it, wonders if it makes him look like he's been drinking.

That night Nick leaves the bathroom door open while he's brushing his teeth because Joe is doing one of his long, free-association monologues that are his way of wrapping up and sorting out the day. The same reason other people dream. Nick likes to listen to them and even if he closed the door it would just end with Joe shouting through it anyway. He spits and looks up and Joe's leaning against the wall in the bedroom with his arms loosely crossed, watching him. Joe's range of serious expressions mostly edge to the intense. It's the eyebrows, Nick thinks. There's something hard about this one, sharp and glazed at the same time. Like an animal scenting something on the wind.

"Yeah?" Nick asks.

Joe shrugs and pulls back the covers of his double bed, breaking the gaze. He doesn't answer Nick's question but Nick doesn't push it. This isn't the first time he's left this sort of thing alone.

***

Nick has nearly died a couple times, so that was pretty terrifying. But thinking of scary moments, this one always crops up:

They're praying. His family, their hands are clasped in a circle, heads down and eyes closed. Dad is asking God for his blessing, thanking Him for the opportunity to rise to the grace He has given them. Nick's nose itches and he sneezes and he opens his eyes instinctively and he looks to his right and Joe's eyes are open too. Not like Nick's are, but open like they've been that way for a long time. He's staring off into the middle-distance, unfocused and bored.

He must have had them open the whole time he was holding Nick's hand.

***

Nick isn't stupid. It's sort of a point of pride with him. He's a little naive, maybe, for being in the industry, but he's confident he knows more than most kids his age. But regardless of experience, Nick is just bright. He gets things.

So this one time on tour, when they're traveling from wherever to wherever, Nick and Joe start off playing Halo. And then because Joe is basically six, they end up acting out some weird play pretend thing using props from around the bus. Frankie gets to be Master Chief, a cardboard box on his head. Eventually Frankie runs into the coffee table at full speed and starts to cry, little gasping sobs that are more worrisome than if he were howling and milking it for attention. Nick and Joe exchange looks and Nick's the one to usher Frankie off to the bunks, get Frank the metallic purple bandaid he always wants even though he's got a bruise, not a scrape. He sets Frankie up with a DVD of _The Jungle Book_ and a juicebox Nick himself wouldn't be able to drink except for under certain circumstances. Frank settles down, eyes puffy but there's a peaceful look to his round little face and Nick kisses him on top of the head and leaves him alone.

Joe isn't in the TV room anymore, so Nick goes to the kitchen. Kevin's the only one in there. He's on the phone and waves distractedly at Nick while saying, "No - yeah, those are all things I value in our relationship too." Nick wrinkles up a pointed face and opens a cabinet to get himself some cereal.

"Death from above!!" Joe shouts, materializing from somewhere and tackling Nick to the ground. Nick squawks in a way he'll deny later and struggles and they get something like a wrestling match going, limbs flailing everywhere, while Joe shouts, "What made you think it was game over, man? Honor's at stake, honor! Say my name!"

"You're retarded - your name's Retarded," Nick says, but he's laughing. He tries to push Joe off him by the forehead, which makes Joe all the more determined to bury himself in Nick's chest. "Joe 'special needs' Jonas. Look it up, it's in the yearbook."

"Your _face_ is special needs, aw snap," Joe says, but the energy's gone out of him by now. He tucks his face in Nick's neck, breathes against it in hot little puffs. Joe circles his arms around him. Nick combs through Joe's hair idly, aware of Joe's weight, like Joe is the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"Niiiick," Frankie's voice floats out from the bunks and the moment's over. Nick cranes his head up and sees that Kevin's watching the sprawl of them, ignoring his phone call. He realizes suddenly that Joe is lying flush on top of him and pushes him off to see what Frankie wants.

Frankie wants dunkaroos. "Make it a fruit leather and we've got a deal," Nick says. Mom gets mad when they get Frankie all hyped up on sugar.

"Kay," Frank says. Obviously he had been going for a longshot. "Nick, do Baloo and Bagheera miss Mowgli when he goes?" Frank has seen this movie maybe forty times.

"Of course they do," Nick says. "But they're happy for him because they know he's where he belongs."

He heads back to the kitchen to get Frankie his snack but something stops him at the doorway. The tone of Kevin's voice, that's what makes him stop. It's tentative and quiet, a little too faux-friendly. "So Joe..." Kev tries. He clears his throat and starts again. "I'm thinking I'll do you a solid and room with Nick tonight. Play your cards right and you can break curfew without getting in trouble."

Nick peaks his head in, just enough to see. Joe's sitting at the table with Kev now. His hair is a wreck. He taps the tabletop, an irritated little staccato. He stares out the window for a moment, at the landscape blending together brown and green-brown like an uninspired Monet, his brows beetled and his mouth pursed up a little.

"That good with you?" Kev asks. Kevin doesn't pull rank as the oldest much, but something in that isn't a question.

Joe looks at him finally. "Do me a _solid_?" he says finally, mocking the word choice except not really. It's angrier than that.

"Yeah," Kevin says. "Let you get out. Meet some girls, maybe."

Joe just stares at the table, unusually still.

"You get me?" Kev asks. He looks unsure of himself, maybe a little sorry or embarrassed, but he just keeps going anyway.

"I _get_ it," Joe snaps. He softens, makes himself soften, and says like a peace offering, "So, Danielle's okay?"

Kevin relaxes, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's great."

So Nick feels nauseous and a hot bright flash of shame, but he isn't stupid. He waits a few second and bustles in the kitchen, breezy as anything and unaware. Nick's not sure if he's smarter than the rest of his family, but sometimes he wonders if he's the only one with the vocabulary to express what's going on.

***

Nick sometimes wonders about his brothers and the rules. Honestly he doesn't think much about no-sex, no-drinking, no-drugs because very few opportunities for any of it arise in his life. But his brothers are older, college-aged if they were ever thinking of going to college. Maybe they're being tested more, maybe it starts to chafe. Kevin obviously has his girlfriend and they've been together so long they're practically married anyway, but Nick can't see Kev reneging on a promise. Literally can't imagine it. Joe's a different story though. Joe likes to think of himself as a bad boy. Which is absurd, Joe is about as hardcore as a muppet. But he's nineteen and that feels adult when you say it out loud. Joe's always staged front and center in the photo shoots and he wears tight pants. For all that the cameras feel oppressive and Orwellian sometimes they aren't actually being filmed twenty-four hours a day. Joe has time to slip away and get up to stuff.

The one time they kinda-sorta talked about it, Joe was fear-confirmingly vague. And what Nick did get out of him was distressing. "There's a different between a sexual _act_ and sex. It's healthy to experiment a little, to find out if you're compatible with a girl. It doesn't make you unpure."

By sexual act Joe had to mean blowjob, right? He couldn't mean much else, could he? Blowjobs were the punchline to a joke, not something that people actually _did_. Nick felt a blush working down his neck. "That's a pretty slippery slope."

Joe snorted. "You could say the same about kissing. What, you're not going to _kiss_ anyone until you get married? I'm pretty sure that ship's already sailed for you, Nicky. Or jerking off." Joe's eyes went narrow as he smirked, clenching his jaw so it went pronounced. The air got a little thicker. "We both know your position on that."

Nick took a step back, _literally_ took a step back. On tour things get... cramped and sometimes you have to do what you have to do and just pray the other person in the room is asleep. Joe's done the same thing, Nick knows that. He recognizes the rustle that means Joe's turned over in his bed, the change in his breathing.

He doesn't know if Joe switches his ring to the other hand when he jerks off though, like Nick does. Sometimes he wants to ask but... whatever, it's stupid.

When Nick doesn't answer, just feels the red creep up to his _ears_ , goddammit, Joe blinks, looking startled at himself. "Sorry," he mutters, annoyed or embarrassed. He turns away a little so he's not crowding Nick's space. "Just what I think, is all."

A while later Nick wakes up in the middle of the night - it's four in the morning - and Joe's not in the hotel room. Nick checks for a light underneath the bathroom door, but it's dark in there, empty. His comforter is rumpled, but it's the only sign that Joe's energy has ever infected the room. The hotel has a twenty-four hour gym, Nick reminds himself as he toes on his sneakers, throws on a hoodie. That's where Joe is; that's where he has to be.

Still, his heart is pounding as he gets on the elevator and the scenarios run helplessly through his head. Joe snuck out with some of the crew or one of their opening bands, went to a club or a bar. Got talked into having a drink he wouldn't be able to hold and then a pretty girl inevitably would press up against him. And Joe would smile at her and laugh at her jokes, laugh at his own, and she would lead him to the bathroom or the alley maybe, although Nick isn't sure exactly what a club bathroom or back alley looks like. And she'd press him up against the wall and Joe would laugh again, startled but something deeper there, sprawled back, all loose and happy and purely of the moment.

The girl in Nick's mind has long, straight hair but she doesn't have a face as she unzips Joe's fly, draws out his dick. But Joe would throw his head back, groaning deep in his throat and it'd be musical in a way, and he'd look in pain almost, the way he does on stage when everything is too intense to differentiate between what's good and what's bad. And - and she'd slip him in her mouth and...

Nick nearly stumbles out of the elevator when it opened, followed the signs to the gym in the basement just a pace faster than walking. He bursts through the door and the first thing he sees is light, just light, sterile and blinding. And the second thing he sees is Joe, over on the mats, and Nick feels relief like a physical blow.

Joe is in yoga pants and a wifebeater, jumping rope. Lately he's been wanting his workouts to be old-school, Rocky style, which Nick assumes is just an excuse for bellowing, "Rocky!!", punching him or Kev in the arm and wandering away again. But his rhythm is pretty solid and he seems into it. His earbuds are in and Nick has a moment to watch the sweat trickle down his collarbones before Joe notices him.

"Hey," Joe says, concerned. He stops, clicks his iPod off. "What's up? You okay?"

"Fine," Nick says. The adrenaline has worn off, leaving him angry at Joe, annoyed at himself. "What the hell are you doing down here?"

Joe shrugs and wanders over to the bench to grab a towel. Back when his hair was shoulder-length and even more ridiculous than it is now, he used to put it in little half-ponytails when he worked out so it wouldn't get in his eyes. It made him look sort of like Daniel Vosovic from _Project Runway_ , except Nick will only admit he likes that show under penalty of death. Right now Joe's hair is damp and curling from it, tendrils clinging to the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep."

"You could have gotten in trouble!" Nick says. Lord, he sounds like Frankie. "Next time just tell me if you're going somewhere, okay?"

Joe shrugs a second time, a smile playing around his mouth. "I didn't want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful, like a little fairy princess."

"Shut up," Nick mumbles but he's relieved again. He can't help it. This is normal. Just Joe at the gym, making fun of him. He hasn't been crossing any barriers, creating any huge cataclysmic divides that would put him and Nick on opposing sides. Everything is still safe.

Joe grins in earnest and goes to tousle his hair and Nick half-heartedly bats him away. Or that's how it's worked a million times before, but now Nick catches Joe by the wrist and doesn't let go. Joe inhales, a short, sharp little thing. His hand clenches in Nick's hair, not quite pulling, not yet.

"If I'm a fairy princess," Nick hears himself say, because he doesn't have control over his mouth right now, he honestly doesn't. "How _would_ you wake me up?"

Joe's mouth goes slack. His breath is shallow with a different kind of exertion than you'd get from jumping rope. His expression is vacant, like a new operating system is booting up. There's something hard stuck in Nick's chest. He feels sick and daring. Joe swallows, his skin washed out in the light and slick with moisture.

But then Joe cuffs him lightly and rubs the towel over his own face vigorously. His voice comes out muffled when he talks through it. "Same way I always wake you up, man, with my melodious song. You know what's weird? Tom Petty is really good to work out to. How weird is that?"

The back of Nick's throat tastes bitter but he swallows it down. Their day starts in a few hours anyway. "Yeah. That's pretty weird."

So this is normal too. But still, maybe nothing's all that safe.

***

Nick is sixteen and sometimes he thinks that history began with him, that his birth ushered in everything of value. That the world was just holding its breath until he arrived and things could become significant. He doesn't share this with anyone because he figures that's pretty normal for being a teenager and already successful at the only thing he's ever wanted to do. But it's about his family too, his brothers, how they're barely separate people at all. There isn't anything about Kevin or Joe he doesn't know. They don't really exist outside his perception of them. But that's a double-edged sword. He wouldn't exist without Joe. He's not being maudlin or anything; Nick just knows that. If he didn't have Joe he would just stop.

There's a pounding on the door at four thirty in the morning and Nick gets up to get him because he knows Joe won't. But when he answers the door and it's Kevin, looking about as angry as Nick's ever seen him, Nick realizes that Joe isn't there.

"Put on your coat," Kev says. "I got a call."

They put on coats and baseball hats and have a brief, terse discussion about whether or not sunglasses will just draw more attention to themselves at this time of night. They sneak out of the hotel. Nick, who has never snuck out of anything before, is surprised at how little actual sneaking is involved. Kevin just walks through the hotel lobby like he has every right to be there and hails a cab.

"What's going on?" Nick asks finally.

"What do you think?" Kevin says and a stone settles at the bottom of Nick's stomach, disturbing the equilibrium of his body like the water level rising.

They pull up to - Nick guesses it's a bar or a pool hall or something. There's a big sign with the name but it's dark out and Nick doesn't really read it. He and Kev walk around the corner. It's a cold night. Nick's sweating except his hands are frigid. Too many layers on but he forgot gloves. Nick looks up for the moon but doesn't find it.

Joe's sitting heavily on the pavement, leaning back against the brick wall of the building. Two guys Nick vaguely recognizes from the venue - light techs or something - are hovering over him, looking cold and amused and resigned. One of them looks up when they hear the crunch of Kev's footsteps and says, "It okay to pass him off to you now?" Nick could kill them. He could honestly kill them.

"Yeah," Kevin says, icy like the worst kind of apocalypse. Kev usually doesn't even know how to be angry, so Nick guesses that when he tries it's with a running start. "Did anyone in there recognize him?"

"Don't think so. It's not really that type of scene."

"Just get lost," Nick says. His fingers are so stiff it's hard to clench them into fists. "You talk about this with anyone and we'll sue and press charges. He's still a minor."

"He had like _three_ beers. Don't be such a little shit," the other guy says, but Kev just glares and the two of them get in the cab they left behind. That's probably not the end of it. A couple discreet calls will be made to their publicists, circumventing Mom and Dad. That's one thing Nick knows right off the bat, no one's telling Mom and Dad. Kevin wouldn't have brought him along if that were an option. It makes him feel a little better that solidarity isn't just a buzzword, that it really is the three of them with their backs against the world.

Joe's having trouble focusing and he sees Kevin first. Nick's lingering behind him. "Kevvvv," he says. "You made it."

"Yeah," Kevin says. He sounds tired. "Yeah, you idiot. I came."

"Kevin, I threw up," Joe informs him. "Like, all over the bathroom. It was awesome." He doesn't sound like drunk people do in the movies, no hiccuping or anything. But he switches between over-annuciating his words and letting them crash together at the end of his sentences. His head lolls forward.

Kevin groans, all _why me_. "I hope you are _so hungover_ tomorrow, jagoff," he tells Joe, going over and wrapping Joe's arm over his shoulder, hauling him up. "I hope your eyeballs feel like they're going to fall out or something."

"Learn me the error of my ways," Joe agrees solemnly. He hums, "Gonna kick me out of the band," then laughs like a hyena.

"Shut up. Don't talk like that," Nick says. Joe looks up and sees him for the first time and his smile is brilliant. It makes Nick feel scuzzy, how simply and genuinely delighted Joe is at his presence. Even now Joe's really the innocent one and Nick just feels endlessly old. He remembers the time he found Joe in the gym, how it foreshadowed this moment almost like they were constructing their own prophecy.

"You brought Nicky!" Joe uses the arm Kevin hasn't commandeered to grope blindly until he grabs Nick by the back of the neck and pulls him into a hug. Nick smells sour smells on his shirt, just a faint hint of Joe underneath. "Nick. Nickalopagos. We would have named you that if we were Greek, that was my vote."

"Shut up or I will murder you," Kevin says at the same time Nick mumbles, "You didn't get a vote, you were three," all squashed.

Joe miraculously does shut up as they shuffle him back towards the road, but more in a way where he's focused on his feet. When they get to the shoulder, Kevin deposits Joe fully on Nick, who has to go into a power stance to support him. "I'm going to go call another cab. You okay here?"

Joe, the human puddle, hums something tuneless in Nick's ear. Nick feels the hair prick on the back of his neck. "Yeah, go ahead. I got him."

Kevin pauses in the middle of flipping open his phone and his expression is so jaded, so uncharacteristic for sweet, enthusiastic Kevin, that it's almost ugly. He doesn't even say anything, just dials, and Nick's stomach flips over. Joe settles into a more comfortable flop on top of him, eyes closed. Maybe he's not even that drunk anymore; maybe he's just tired and being a jerk about it. Nick supports him by the small of his back, and Joe tilts his head so his mouth is up against Nick's ear, almost a nuzzle.

"Yeah Nicky, you got me," Joe says, and it's a hot, wet statement. "You sure got me good, huh? Got me all... all over."

Where Nick isn't burning up, he's freezing and he's not sure what part is making him shake. He doesn't know what to do about any of it, any of Joe's implicit accusations. So he just holds his brother up, the two of them an unbuffered island in a dark world, and waits for a bright speck in the distance that will turn into their taxi. He'll just stand there under the streetlights and wait for that outside force to take them away.

***

Things are kind of messed up after that. Nick has kind of messed things up.

He spends a while waiting for repercussions that don't come. At breakfast the next morning, Joe is pale and his eyes are bloodshot, but they're used to schedules that block out four hours for sleep and Mom and Dad don't seem to notice anything unusual. Kevin and then Joe spend a lot of time on the phone for the next few days, usually in the bathroom. Whatever they do works; no pictures crop up anywhere, no exclusives. As far as it matters, Joe didn't betray any principles at all. It's not like he's changed much. Hypocrisy seems pretty unimportant if it's done discreetly enough. Conditions like that, breaking a promise is probably easier than keeping it.

Joe's differential to Kevin for a few weeks, shaky and uncertain in his gratitude. Kev acts neutral and hard about it, like he's owed. Joe is quiet around Nick. Quiet for him, which means the same in public, the same for the cameras, but he drops it like an act when they're alone together. He's not cruel, he doesn't snap. But he's an ocean of indifference these days like Nick is just a side note in his life. Nick wonders if this is what normal brothers are like, strangers with shared genetics. Nick spends a lot of time with his acoustic, at first trying to shape some part of this into a chord progression. Not that he would share it with anybody. He just to get it out of his head and find a way to make it meaningful instead of ugly. But it doesn't work that well, and he gives up and plays around with arrangements for Angel From Montgomery.

He pauses in the middle of that one day because Joe's fresh out of the shower and still shower-singing under his breath in their shared hotel room. It's one of the songs Andy Samberg wrote for them, the Africa song, and Nick laughs without thinking.

Joe looks over his shoulder sharply. He's just wearing sweatpants, Nick having apparently interrupted him in the process of putting on a shirt. "What?"

"Just... what you were singing," Nick says, feeling self-conscious and defensive. "It's funny."

Joe goes back to what he was doing. "Yeah. Well. That's the point."

Nick puts his guitar aside and sits up, swinging his legs around to the side of the bed. "So are you going to be mad at me forever?"

Joe's back tenses, the vulnerable jut of his shoulder blades drawing together. "Maybe," he says, like he's trying to say it lightly. "It would be pretty convenient in the long run, I think."

"You're the one who got drunk!" Nick says. He lets himself feel a little injured. "You're the one who went out and... and..."

Joe turns around, quirking his eyebrows sardonically. "Whoah. Are you going to say sinned?"

And maybe part of Nick really does believe Joe sinned, but it's not the kind of sin he's thinking of. It might be a travesty in the eyes of God, but it was definitely intended to be a travesty in the eyes of Nick. That's the part that really stings. It sounds so melodramatic put like that - he drove Joe to drink - but he definitely must have driven Joe to try to push him away. "It was really stupid, Joe, and you know it."

Joe sighs in one long push. "Me, doing something stupid? That sure is new. Look, no one got in trouble, I just experimented a little and it got out of hand. I won't do it again. Everything's cool."

"You can't seriously think that."

"Then _you_ think of something we can do!" Joe says, and he actually throws up his hands in frustration. He looks wild-eyed and exhausted. Nick suddenly understands what petrified means; his heart has stopped, his whole body is atrophying into rock. They are talking about this. They are actually _talking_ about this.

Nick licks his lips, tries to get out the words carefully through a mouth gone dry. "You're... you're always going on about experimentation..."

Joe laughs, bitter. "It's a little hard to pretend it's a normal and healthy part of growing up. Not exactly after-school special material here."

Nick looks down at his lap, where all this surging sense of want has been pooling for what feels like years now. Maybe it could just go away on its own, a life-long build dissipating in a moment, evaporating without any tacky residue of regret. He says quietly, "I don't want to lose you."

Joe's silent and still for a moment, jaw clenched hard. Then he contorts his face like a snarl and crosses the room. He yanks Nick up by the collar of his shirt and god, this could be any of the times they skirmished, it could be any of their thousand fights except this is a universe away from just kidding. There's no play in this. Joe's hand crushes the hair on the back of his head as he pulls Nick into a kiss. Nick doesn't have time to absorb that this is even really happening because Joe's constantly in motion, biting Nick's lower lip, sucking on his tongue. Joe's lips feel kind of chapped and his mouth is a cavern of wet and he seems so hungry. Joe kisses like he's desperate.

Nick has second thoughts, a thousand of them crowding together and making him feel a little sick. But Joe walks him so his heels hit the bed and Nick falls backwards on his elbows. In practically the same motion Joe straddles him, grabs Nick's head between his hands and pulls him into another kiss, just as slick and raw. Nick tries to find balance, grabbing awkwardly at Joe's hips. Joe makes a noise and sort of grinds against Nick's stomach, and Nick can feel the stiff insistence of Joe's erection through his sweatpants. The idea of it runs through him like a shock, settles low in his groin.

Joe pulls back, still holding Nick in place. His expression is dark and scrutinizing. "Look at you. You're already pussying out."

"I can't _breathe_ ," Nick says petulantly. And Joe stares at him for another second, but Nick broke through his storm. Joe laughs a little, sheepishly, and loosens his grip. It makes Nick's chest loosen too, being able to recognize Joe again.

Joe runs a thumb across Nick's cheekbone. It's a weird gesture, making Nick feel like he's somewhere between being fondled and cradled. "Just... just tell me this isn't to keep the band together."

Nick blinks. "What?"

Joe doesn't quite meet his eye, just keeps kneading through Nick's curls in a way that makes his cock kick up even more, interested. "You know... like you're worried about me losing my way or something and you're doing this because it'll keep me from getting into a big scandal that would make Mom and Dad kick me to the streets and I'd wind up a crackwhore. Not even a classy high-end prostitute, a total crackwhore."

"What? None of what you just said made sense," Nick says. "Have - have you even been paying _attention_? This is all I can freaking think about anymore. You're all I..." He breaks off, choking up. God how stupid.

"Hey," Joe says, gentle. Coaxing. "Hey Nick, it's okay." It's better when he kisses Nick again. It feels like their mouths fit together this time. Joe leans them back so Nick's lying on the bed, Joe on top of him, resting his weight on his forearms, and they just keep kissing. Nick wraps his hand around the back of Joe's neck and Joe grunts a little, squeezing his shoulder. Nick's heart is zinging like he's had too much caffeine, but the kissing itself is slow, syrupy, easy.

Joe nips at his jaw. "Come on." He follows the trail of it up to Nick's ear, sucks it in his mouth for a second, making Nick shudder before letting go. "C'mon, c'mon."

"What?" Nick asks, gasping.

Joe tugs on his sleeve. "Shirt off."

Nick nods jerkily and struggles to take off his shirt while Joe won't really get off him. He sits back a little once Nick's done though, examining Nick like he hasn't seen him naked a million times before. It makes Nick feel a little shy, a little humbled. He knew that the part of Joe that wasn't fighting was waiting, but Joe's so fascinated and greedy. Which seems unbalanced, when Joe himself, hovering above Nick and looking so focused and serene, is about as amazing as anything the world has to offer.

Joe pinches his nipple and laughs when Nick makes an indignant noise. He puts his mouth on the side of Nick's ribcage and sucks, eyes flickering up to gauge Nick's reaction. Nick's never been this hard, not with anyone, and it feels like it might kill him. Joe kisses his way back up Nick's chest and Nick practically lunges for his mouth this time, pressing his dick into the cut of Joe's hip. This must be what slutty feels like, wanting something so much you're willing to look degrading for it. Nick digs into the plane of Joe's back, hooks his calf around his knee, piecing them together.

Joe moans and turns his head to the side, panting a little with his eyes squeezed shut. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Nick, I'm gonna jerk you off. Say you're cool with that, Nick."

Nick thinks about his hysterical little fantasy, the faceless girl. "I could. Uh. Use my mouth."

"Fuck!" Joe hisses, thrusting down against Nick. He fumbles his hand into his pants and Nick can feel it move more than see it. One long squeeze and then a steady rhythm. "Shit - Nick. Sorry. Just - God. Oh _god_. Nicky."

Nick grabs for him and kisses him. He can't stop moving his hands, gripping muscle and letting go again, mapping Joe out. Joe speeds up, not really kissing Nick anymore as much as sharing air with him. His face furrows and his whole body jerks and then does it again. He makes a long, guttural sound and collapses on top of Nick. Nick feels dampness against his leg, and he's so happy.

"Okay, that was a practice run," Joe says hoarsely after a moment. He worms himself up, sweaty and flushed in patchwork. Lovely should be an inappropriate word to attach to Joe but it floats through Nick's mind for a second anyway. "Your turn."

He yanks down Nick's pants way too roughly and Nick makes a strangled noise of protest. But then Joe's hand is sticky wrapped around his dick and he doesn't care anymore. Nick claws at the sheets, draws his legs up because he has to move. Finally it settles down into his hips, little jerks with Joe's hand, and that works. This is so much more than he thought it would be. He recognizes the cool, smooth surface of Joe's ring when Joe starts to work his cock, and even that's not enough to make him care. He moans Joe's name and Joe licks his neck and circles his thumb around the head of Nick's cock before continuing the rhythm. Nick forces his eyes open to watch Joe watching him, a tiny smile tugging the corners of his mouth. And Nick comes, moaning because it's just so good. It's the two of them in their envelope-sized universe; it's everything.

***

Joe harangues Nick into eating an orange although Nick ate an hour ago and the only oranges left on the bus are small and bruised. His eyes flicker to track the motion as juice runs down Nick's arm. Nick doesn't lick it up. He uses a napkin. Joe smacks the heel of his hand against Nick's forehead and then goes off to play Wii Fit with Frankie, who for some reason is determined to hula-hoop on a moving bus. Kevin doesn't look up from reading The Wallstreet Journal on his laptop during any of it.

Nick goes to the bunks with _Middlemarch_ , which he's reading for English. He gets maybe thirty pages in before the curtain pulls back and Joe's staring down at him. Nick takes an earbud out. "Yeah?"

Joe taps his mouth with his finger, _quiet_ , and leans down to kiss him, sliding a hand over Nick's shoulder. Nick closes his eyes, cranes up into it, but then there's a noise and Joe lets go. He squeezes Nick's hand and winks, and then he's gone again.


End file.
